


Take My Hand, We'll be Fine

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Dinner, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Food, Gen, Humor, Implied Relationships, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Out of Character, Partnership, Platonic Soulmates, Soul-Searching, Soulmates, Touching, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 19:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: What’s a soulmate?They know your quirks because they’ve written a manual about it. Probably edited and rewritten over a thousand times because they learn something new about you with each passing day. They help make you a better person. Actually, you did that on your own. You took their words and actions as inspiration, and there you slowly began to grow. A soulmate is something that you’ll carry for a long time. Like a memory, but only better. They’re a memory that can breathe, talk, and is tangible when you reach out for them.But, in actuality, soulmates don’t exist. Simply, it’s this feeling that you get when you look at someone and you just know. One glance and everything is going to be okay. No matter what happens, you can count on them.That, will never change.





	Take My Hand, We'll be Fine

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really rusty writing for other YoI characters, so I wanted to focus this fic on Phichit and Seung-Gil

_ What’s a soulmate? _

_ A soulmate is someone who loves you as you are. No matter where you came from, no matter what you’ve done, they’ll always be there for you. Sometimes, it’s hard to realize when they come and go in our lives, but they influence us in some of the smallest ways. Little by little, you can retrace your steps and find them again. They’re like a treasure chest that left you a map, and Love is the compass that guides you to where you should go. _

_ They know your quirks because they’ve written a manual about it. Probably edited and rewritten over a thousand times because they learn something new about you with each passing day. They help make you a better person. Actually, you did that on your own. You took their words and actions as inspiration, and there you slowly began to grow. A soulmate is something that you’ll carry for a long time. Like a memory, but only better. They’re a memory that can breathe, talk, and is tangible when you reach out for them. _

_ But, in actuality, soulmates don’t exist. Simply, it’s this feeling that you get when you look at someone and you just know. One glance and everything is going to be okay. No matter what happens, you can count on them. _

_ That, will never change. _

* * *

 

A soulmate, as beautiful as it was to have one, was much like the forks and spoons laid across Phichit’s napkin when his fingers hovered over which to grab.

An orange tint glossed over the metallic handles and on the gentle slopes that accompanied him throughout this five-course meal. Too many flavors, too many smells to keep track of, and Phichit’s fingers were still searching for what could complete his experience. A burp rippled up from his throat, but Phichit suppressed it with the back of his hand. In fine company, where only a smidge of dress salad or the crusted bits of a soup stared back at him, Phichit held himself back. Perhaps, it would spoil the gold and silver swirling over his tongue but when Phichit really thought about it, he was playing the fool for an aesthetic. Because amongst the silverware he had left for the last course of the night, Phichit knew he would find his soulmate. Or at least, a zesty metaphor for the performances playing in his theatre of the mind.

Every utensil had a purpose, though every prong and dip of a curve mirrored so many others. Similar with people with familiar smiles, the slant of a gaze, or how they spoke in a rounded-way to conceal than reveal whom they were inside. But in hindsight, Phichit was getting a bit off-topic with what he wanted to do. A fantasy didn’t need to bleed into reality unless it had to. With that sticky note on his brain, Phichit meandered his gaze along his side of the table and continued his narrative.

Some utensils were better for soups or to spear fruit for the tongue of a god or goddess. Some enjoyed the fine pulse of a thin, bleeding sliver of steak along a porcelain canvas. Painted over by an artist, beads of sauce and salt ribboning off from the lace of flesh. Much like a tangerine dress, leaning against a gated-rail for a party with a glass of wine swiveling in a hand. Some utensils were the sommeliers to their craft, much too specialized for an amateur hand. The double-edged spoons, leftover from a soup parade, glistened under an autumn-touched light. Untouched by the golds and silvers they were supposed to find, submerged under a milky sheath of a rich, dense soup.

Others fished for the golds and silvers, submerged under a milky sheath pulled back by a mix.

Oh, if Phichit still had his knives from his main meal, he would’ve thrown them into the mix cesspool of snazz and flair as well. There were some legendary swords that passed and felt the weight of Phichit’s hand, but all those blades were left behind on a beautiful steak plate. All that Phichit had left was a butter knife to swish and cut his portion of bread. Perhaps his tenth slice during the entirety of this meal, but did it matter when the breadbaskets were free if the bill was a total of fifty or more? Well, if Phichit was a college student again, he definitely would’ve stuffed a few baskets shares into his backpack to gnaw on for the next few weeks. He could do it now if he wanted, buttering his bread before a just-dessert, but Phichit made the mistake of looking up and caught Seung-Gil’s wandering eye.

There. Right then, Phichit knew he could’ve constructed a pretty soliloquy for his ears only when he found the light at the end of Seung-Gil’s eyes. But then, it wasn’t too hard to find. Seung-Gil wasn’t that far from the centre of the table, and his clutter of dishes reflected the overhanging chandelier back into his gaze. But when Phichit pulled away reality’s curtains and focused on the initial moment through this romantic haze, his heart thumped a little quicker. His palms felt a chill beneath the table because Phichit found his soulmate.

Right when Seung-Gil reached for his wallet to pay his half of the bill, Phichit swooned. Grossly exaggerated with cupids and a choir singing above his shoulders, but a soft smile along his lips and over his eyes spelled the rush of his heart. Those tinkering feelings over the Intel Core-7 in his chest, supercharged by a bigger memory card so that Phichit could review every seamless motions that decorated Seung-Gil’s design.

Say if he was a robot:  _ make it simple! _

Facial recognition got itself a golden, six-point star because Seung-Gil slipped his gaze downwards when he thumbed through a few bills. He remembered that Phichit had a gift card. He could see the rectangular outline in Phichit’s eyes, so Seung-Gil pulled his fingers away from his wallet. The intricate twitches that ran down his fingers from up his arm caught the corners of Phichit’s breath, and he probably looked possessed. Simply watching Seung-Gil with a glossy look, but Seung-Gil was rather used to it by now. He had seen a similar gaze from Phichit when the programmer indulged his hamsters and cuddled them against his cheeks. Even so, the lingering stare flickered an emergency light in his mind.

A quick snap of the fingers on Seung-Gil’s part, and Phichit remembered the buttered toast between his fingers. Smothered over with more goodness than a tongue could take, but Phichit wolfed it down. The pop of his fingers against his lips when he caught the butter between his fingernails. The flash of red across his face was enough where Seung-Gil whipped out his phone and checked WebMD to understand what caught Phichit under a hot collar.

Just before he plugged in Phichit’s general information, Phichit lunged across the table. Dishes flew out of his way, nearly toppling over the water glasses when he slapped the phone out of Seung-Gil’s hand. It flew, knocked across the dining table and splintered across the floor, and Seung-Gil locked eyes with Phichit. Two seconds of a delayed reaction before his eyebrow twitched, and Phichit knew that he was going to die. He didn’t have a will, nor anyone else who could take care of his hamsters when he was gone from this world. His face twisted to every degree of embarrassment that he knew before an apology sputtered out and--

“Phichit, are you narrating again?” Seung-Gil glanced down at his wrist. Phichit held a vice-grip on it, and Seung-Gil slowly peeled the fingers off him. One digit at a time and every release paled Phichit’s skin a tad more than before. Seung-Gil didn’t scoot away, per se. However, he nudged his laptop away from Phichit’s grabby hands and seated it on his lap instead.

Enough of an intermission where Phichit returned to his side of the booth, ironing out the crinkles along his suit from what he just did. Rather than explain himself, Phichit did what he did best:  _ Narrate anyway. _

“Okay, look at it this way.” Hands pressed together and his fingers pointed dead-straight on Seung-Gil. May’ve been rude. Oh, Phichit noticed the definite furrow of Seung-Gil’s brows, but he was very much used to the theatrical flairs that were ingrained into Phichit’s nervous system. Like a bunch of ones and zeroes for binary coding, but that was a textbook example for another time. “I’ve been staring at nothing more than a block of code for a year. I think I’ve earned the opportunity to spice my life a little.”

Seung-Gil grunted. It was his usual response. It either meant:  _ ‘Good for you’  _ or  _ ‘I’m just making this noise so I won’t have to talk’. _

Phichit wouldn’t say that it was about as civilized as Seung-Gil could get. He was, after all, a programmer of very few words.  _ Very few _ . Even the emphasize was needed because sometimes, Seung-Gil only spoke in ones and zeroes during the past year when everything was set aside to fulfill a dream. And even though it was hard, Phichit returned Seung-Gil’s ones and zeroes with company, a good chat every hour and on the hour, and with this dinner that they both could share now that everything was said and done. In just about a month, their hard work was to be released to the public.

So to say that they were both on the edge and totally not used to each other right now was a bit of an understatement when so much was riding on them doing well after the utter hell it was to create a social networking program.

Whew, Phichit needed to get that off his chest when he pretty much gulped his weight in water from a single glass. His eyes occasionally glanced over at Seung-Gil, but there wasn’t much for them to say to each other now. As long as the app was running smoothly during its trial period, it made up for the sleepless nights leading up to now. Speaking of their app, the name was still in the works.

Phichit had free-reign over the summary for their project, and he left Seung-Gil with, perhaps, the greatest role than any developer could have. For a name signified more than just a label, but it gave an app its first thrill of becoming real. Because this was real, and Seung-Gil towed his laptop all the way to this dinner just so that he could iron out the last bugs he could find and come up with a name that expressed everything he and Phichit had gone through.

Was Phichit narrating again? Yes, he was. Because from an outsider’s point of view, one would only see a fragile man that fumbled at his bowtie and hissed that he needed to find a charger for his laptop. One would only care to notice how selfish Seung-Gil seemed to be before a gracious end to a fine dinner, but it was just the stress getting to him. Even Phichit, himself, was rather stressed. He knew he crossed a boundary that he shouldn’t have, and silence wasn’t going to amend anything if he had let it be.

Phichit tipped his head back and touched the top of his seat. The swinging chandelier above their heads finally froze in its original position, and an apology spilled between Phichit’s lips. He bowed his head for good measure, so low that his bangs could touch the crumbs from his main course if they wanted to. Seung-Gil’s fingers twitched. He thought about brushing Phichit’s bangs out of the way, but to lean across the table after what had happened didn’t sit well in his mind. His hands did nothing, simply rested at his side in the depth of Phichit’s words.

“You know, we haven’t gone out often.” Maroon crept past Phichit’s jaw and settled near his cheeks. Gosh, this wasn’t the time to feel a stir for life when a heartfelt apology was what was needed the most for right now. Even so, his heart did more of the talking than his mind should’ve. “We haven’t seen people, we’ve been at each other’s throats for so…”

Every word that crept afterwards was lost to Phichit. His mind had other plans, twisting subtle puns and hidden messages between everything that Phichit wanted to say. He revealed so much and yet, Seung-Gil took it at face value. Not that he didn’t return Phichit’s feelings-- _ or so Phichit hoped-- _ but the subtle-radar for a literal mind was so low that the hidden meanings flew way over Seung-Gil’s head. Eventually, leading his gaze to meander towards the simple shuffles of Phichit’s fingers. How they cracked slightly and one hand covered the other set of fingers. A part of Phichit couldn’t open up, though he tried so hard, and Seung-Gil closed his eyes. Briefly numbing his senses so he could think rationally, and Seung-Gil focused on his empty plate before meeting Phichit’s gaze again.

“I like working with you.” Seung-Gil’s fingers curled over his lap when Phichit’s voice faded, and he looked up and saw that Phichit was staring at him. A part at his lips and Seung-Gil scratched behind his head. Unsure of what to say next from this point on, but he had a typewriter in his mind. He could read off the script that he had constructed in seconds, but it wouldn’t feel right off his tongue. Perhaps, he could be honest too. However, before he could continue, Seung-Gil wanted to hold Phichit’s hand. Feel the touch and know that everything was going to be okay. Moreover, perhaps, to remind Seung-Gil that he can reach out and comfort the people that meant something to him.

Whether back-to-back during a programming gig, or in a moment of trust like this

**Author's Note:**

> This short ficlet was meant for a Viktuuri big bang. As I was writing it, I decided to keep the focus of the story on Phichit and Seung-Gil instead and I experimented around with their characters.


End file.
